Newport News High School - Anchor Yearbook (Newport News, VA)

Page 6 text:

Dancing Point Elizabeth Berkeley June, ’23 The sun disappeared below the hori- zon, leaving in its wake a sky flushed with crimson like some wicked soul that, in departing, leaves the whole world stained red with its sin, for ever to be remembered. Presently even the red died away and moon appearing above the ma- jestic pines, made their tall forms cast soft shadows in the stream be- low. The breeze just stirred them so that their murmuring made soft music which floated from one bank to another, the pines on the opposite side catching up the sound and send- ing it back across. Not far from the foot of the pines the little waves lap- ped gently against the shore. In the flood of this clear moonlight an Indian maiden danced. A young warrior, tall and brave, paddled his canoe up to the beach and noiselessly crept over the gravel bank. He then joined in the dancing. For a long time they danced there without uttering a sound, their voices being hushed by the stillness of the forest and their very souls drinking in the enchantment of the night. During all this time another Indian lay hidden in the bushes, his own black thoughts crowding the beauty of the night from his mind. His were thoughts of an Indian revenge, which is worse than the bite of a venomous serpent. Since he could not have this maiden for his own he would let no one else have her. Well he knew that the wedding feast that had been pre- pared for the morrow would never be eaten. For he had stirred up a neigh- boring tribe against his own and al- ready enemies hid in all parts of the woods. Of course, the warrior would be forced to go on the warpath and the maiden to wander over the coun- try with the tribe. In fact, the chief of the tribe had sent him to call his warrior to the council. After a while he ’rose and ran down to the place where the warrior and girl were dancing. He pretended that he had been running a mile or so and was out of breath. He panted out the chief’s orders and followed the war- rior back to the village. Next day the village moved away and the warriors went on the warpath hideous in their paint and feathers. :J: After months of separation from the tribe and endless wanderings through the forests the Indian maid- en, half crazed with starvation, re- turned to the place where she had danced so many nights with a warrior. That was long ago, at least so it seemed to her. How long she had searched for him, she could not re- member, so wretched was her condi- tion of mind and body. Maybe he would remember and come back. Every night for almost a month she danced there, always hoping that some day he would remember and return. But he never came. At last one night she gave up; what was there in the faithless waiting? Why should she go on living when life was a long heart break, and death was sweet?

Page 5 text:

THE BEACON Vol. IV NEWPORT NEWS, VA., DECEMBER, 1920 No. 3 noel The Day of Days approaches fast, the Time of all the Times, Of carols gay on Christmas Day and sweet celestial chimes, Of Christmas trees and fantasies that bring delights untold; Of cozy hearths protected from the night wind’s biting cold. The stories of the Christ Child float upon the wint’ry air, And legends old of Him are told, while children sit and stare, And wonder of this Man of Love who in us did instill His heavenly message, “Peace on earth, and toward all men good will.” Hushed the myriad battle-cries, hushed the cries of pain, The fighting bands of fretful lands are doomed to ’rise in vain; The fearful mirth and mournful dearth of battles cease to be, The God of War walks forth no more with fierce solemnity. The chimes ring out on Christmas Day in solemn requiem, The morning air wafts many a prayer, from glad hearts back to Him, For the life He gave, their own to save, and joys which never cease, And in that hour bells in the tower knell softly “Good Will — Peace — .”

Page 7 text:

THE BEACON 95 Tonight there was no use in danc- ing, for the moon had hidden itself like a frightened child, leaving the world cold and almost dark. Presently she came to the edge of the bank and gazed into the quiet stream that reflected her haggard form in its unsympathetic waters as if to mock her wretched existance. Then she turned to the pines as if to ask aid. She called twice but no one answered and no one came. The sound rang emptily through the for- est, the pines merely nodded to each other and sighed softly. Again she turned to the waters, standing there only for a moment be- fore she disappeared into the stream. Still every night when the sun went down and the moon was high her spirit danced there, only returning to its watery grave at the coming day. A warrior slowly paddled to shore in his canoe. This was the place he had come to look for. The night was like the one he held so sacred in mem- ory, when he had danced for the last time with a beautiful maiden, maybe she was there waiting for him. Just as he came to shore he fancied that he saw something rise out of the water and begin dancing a wild, fantastic dance. This wild thing was the spirit of the girl for whom he had searched so long. Weary as he was, he followed her as if drawn by some queer enchant- ment. On and on they danced until they came to the edge of the stream, she stood there for half a heart-beat clear against the sky, and then van- ished into the water. He followed her as in a dream, not